Limerance
by Ravenna Snow
Summary: He had never feared anything, until he fell into a state of limerance. From there, all the wolf needed was his hawk.  F!Hawke/Fenris
1. Chapter 1

This was written originally as a response to an Anon's prompt on kinkmeme and a few requests from friends, but grew to be so much more. It ran away from me, and before I knew it I had 10 pages in Word _

I apologize if there are some typos anywhere. Just in case, I'm going to give the following warnings:

*********************]THIS IS WRITTEN FOR A MATURE AUDIENCE; THERE ARE SPOILERS PRESENT**********************

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age and am not writing this for any profit (just emotional happiness).

All written to listening non-stop to Fenris's GORGEOUS soundtrack - so if you want to feel the mood I felt as I was writing, I recommend plugging that in.

To give a bit of a back story - this takes place in Act 2 where f!Hawke (rogue) duels the Arishok. For the sake of the story, I'm going to say that the night at the estate after Fenris killed Haydriana, he rejected Hawke's offer to stay and walked out. He did not return later - he simply rejected her and they didn't bring it up again. They did not really have any romantic interactions after that (nothing happened between them - not even a kiss).

As always, comments help inspire and bolster authors, and I would LOVE to know what you guys think!

So, without further ado -

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><p><strong>LIMERANCE<strong>

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

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><p>The Champion lay dying.<p>

Without end, blood seeped through the thickest of bandages – relentless as a rushing river.

In his mind, he knew that he should be doing something, but an unfamiliar feeling was cutting off his rationale. It was the shattering of confidence, it was disbelief, it was helplessness, and – most of all – a deep, dark, terror that he had never thought to feel.

He – Fenris – feared nothing. It was an emotion as alien and foreign as the affection that this woman had stirred in him all those years ago. He had no memory of ever feeling it before, yet now that it wormed through his very soul, he knew it for what it was without having to recall any experience with it. It was the thought of losing her – the notion of her disappearing somewhere past his reach – that drove him mad.

He had never seen her so still; _always_, she was moving – running, walking, fighting, gesturing. She was the very _essence_ of vitality, her mere presence enough to stir the dead hollows of his heart. Now, however, she lay – motionless – on his bed, her eyes closed, her face as white as chalk. Even her lips, which were normally soft and alluringly rosy, were now turning an alarming shade of blue.

Why had he brought her here – to a place where they were so far away from assistance? Truthfully, he had no immediate answer. As he rummaged through his things, looking for elfroot potions, he wondered why he hadn't simply taken her to that fool, Anders, for healing. But therein lay the answer – the man was a _fool_, and an abomination. He had never been able to swallow his magic touching him, even if it was for healing or assistance. Now, to have him touch Hawke with the same magic when she was in such a state, was a solution he could not imagine turning to.

_What does magic touch that it does not spoil?_

Nothing – his mind replied. In his entire life, he had yet to see magic work without some form of consequence. For now, Anders was himself – mostly – but who knew what could trigger him to lose control? Hawke was too vulnerable now to risk that. Or was it _he_ that was too vulnerable? Had he allowed her _too_ close? Would his instincts of self-preservation stand by while his desires were crowned rulers of his actions? His hands paused in their search; his eyes grew distant. He forced himself to try and reason through his overwhelming restlessness, even knowing that – when it came to Hawke – there was hardly anything that made sense.

He could barely recall the events after her duel with the Arishok. It had been a brutal battle; the two combatants were both equals, despite the staggering difference in their size. She had always been lean and lithe in form, but appeared dwarfed against the mighty Qunari. They were a mountain and a hill – a mighty bear to an agile fox. The Qunari's enormous sword swung wide and fast, but she was _faster_. She dodged, and jumped, and whirled around, dancing around her foe until he seemed disoriented. It was in these precious seconds that she struck, burying her daggers deep into the warrior's exposed back and sides until he fell to one knee. Yet, for all her prowess on the field and all her lightning reflexes, she failed to see her foe's deception. As she relaxed her battle stance in anticipation of a victory, the mighty bear reached up and tore one of her daggers from his side, slashing outward in an unexpected display of agility.

He could recall how the Arishok had fallen – dead – to the ground, how the fearful silence of the crowd suddenly became a roar of cheering. His own spirit had soared to see her persevere, only to feel his heart drop into his stomach as he saw her stumbling towards him. At first, he was confused; he could not see any injuries on her. But, when she collapsed – senseless – into his hold, his hands slipped on blood. In his attack, the Arishok had used her own dagger to tear a long gash down her back, right between her shoulder blades. From here, everything was hazy in his mind.

Someone had offered assistance – someone had offered to run for the help of a mage. He did not wait for that – imagining magic touching her at such a critical time nearly made him sick. The thought was enough to spur him into action; almost effortlessly, he gathered her into his arms and ran.

"Fenris?" Her voice startled him out of a haze of brooding. He jumped to his feet and practically fell to his knees before the bed, wanting to grasp her hand yet fearing of moving her at all. There was so much he wanted to ask – was she in pain? Was she going to be alright? He desperately wanted to apologize to her; _he_ had instigated the duel; _he_ was responsible for her pain and suffering. All these thoughts gathered together to form a mass of jumbled words that would remain trapped behind an unyielding dam of pride and fear – pride, for he could not apologize, and fear of losing her if he did not.

"Fenris…where is the Arishok? The city…the Qunari…" Her eyes were open now. They were his windows to a green paradise he'd always wished to touch. Even clouded with pain and confusion, they were the most beautiful color he had ever seen – even greener than the meadows of Saheron during Spring. He reached out to her, despite himself, and gently brushed his fingers across her cheek, careful to be gentle lest his armor cut her skin.

"The Arishok is defeated. You have saved the city." She sighed, then – a sound full of relief and exhaustion.

"Thank the Maker…"

"You were injured," he added hastily.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," she replied breathlessly. Her brow furrowed when she saw the tortured look on his face. "Fenris – I'm alright. Don't call Anders. He has enough to deal with healing the injured of the city." Her eyes moved in a quick inspection of her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"In my home," he answered in a low voice. "I brought you here after the duel. I…don't know why." For a moment, their eyes met. Green to hazel. Then the door slammed open behind him and the moment was lost. A hoarse shout cut through the silence as a knife through silk.

"Where is she?"

Fenris did not have to turn to recognize the owner of the voice. Anders' scratchy baritone was as distinct to him as the sound of breaking glass. Resentment welled up in his chest, for he knew that this _mage_ had come to do what he could not – to save the woman that was the center of his universe while he could only watch. Silently, he allowed the man to shoulder him aside, his hands curling into fists as he watched a blue glow surround Hawke's back.

"How could you _do_ this, Fenris – put her in danger like this? Why didn't you wait for me?"

Fenris looked down at his clenched fists. He had nothing to say to that.

"Be still, Hawke – if I had known that you were hurt, I would have come here sooner."

There was a catch in his voice, almost like he was holding something back. It would have been useless for a man who knew nothing in the field of sentiment to try to understand it, yet – in that moment – Fenris knew that Anders still loved Hawke. The knowledge was like wildfire; it spread through his veins like burning poison. It was jealousy – as black as tar. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding painfully together. He did not dare to turn back to look at the sight before him, lest he see confirmation of the mage's feelings on his face.

"Enough, Anders. Stop before you hurt yourself." He stole a glimpse at them and saw that Hawke's hand had come up to rest on Anders' forearm. "You've closed the wound. The rest will heal on its own, in time." She glanced at in his direction. "Once Fenris finds me some Elfroot."

"I won't leave you _here_ like this," the mage protested. His tone bellied his obvious anger.

"You will," she replied firmly.

"It's _his_ fault," Anders gestured angrily. "If he had called me sooner, I wouldn't have gone to the clinic – I would have come to you right away, I would have all of my strength." His hand grasped the edge of the bed, his fingers trembling. Instinctively, Fenris' hand went to the hilt of his blade. Anders was unstable, and strong emotions were a danger to them all.

"Anders, please stop," Hawke said in a commanding tone. Her voice seemed to douse the mage's rising frustration. "If you had come here sooner, you would not have helped anyone. Fenris only brought me here at _my_ request."

"Yours?" the mage looked put out. With a small groan and a wince of pain, Hawke sat up.

"Yes, mine." She rolled her shoulders experimentally. "I asked him not to tell anyone because I knew that you would give up helping the injured to help _me_," she smiled weakly, "…just as you have done." In the wake of her admission, all three fell into an awkward silence.

There was a sudden commotion at the door. A woman dashed into the room, her face stricken. "Anders! Please! You _must_ help!" In response to the shouting, the mage stood, looking conflicted. Without hesitation, Hawke stood and gripped his arm.

"_Go_, Anders." He hesitated. "Thank you for coming here – for healing me. The others need you now." Stiffly, he nodded.

"Take me to them, Lirene," he said to the woman.

After both of them disappeared and the doors were shut, Hawke let herself sit back down with a sigh. In the half-light of the dark room, the shadows on Fenris's face were deep and mysterious. His eyes seemed to glow. Anders' departure had abandoned them to drown in a thick silence. Her back pulsed with a throbbing pain, but something – perhaps the way he was looking at her – made her mind stray from all thoughts of the injury. From her position on the bed, she watched as he moved towards her slowly.

Nothing.

No sound.

Just the slight and barely audible creaking of the wooden floor as it bore his weight.

He was next to her in less time than it took for her to complete a full cycle of breathing. A pause. He watched her silently. She tried to urge herself to say something, to break the sudden silence that was causing a feeling of discomfort in her gut, but all words flew out of her mind when he lowered his hand to stroke his armored claws through her hair. It flowed through his fingers like a waterfall of ink, his face hard. The feeble rays of the moon that made it into the room through the shutters reflected brilliantly off his face, the white markings there taking on a ghostly hue. High cheek bones, wide-set eyes, a strong jaw, and full, sensual lips were all complimented by the light. She licked her lips nervously, tasting a slightly salty flavor. Suddenly, she was very much aware of the sweat covering her body.

_I must look absolutely horrible…_

She felt a strong need to hide somewhere where he couldn't see her in such a state of ugliness. He didn't seem to care, remaining silent and simply looking into her eyes as if he expected her to say something. She had lied for him by taking the blame for his own unfathomable actions – had Anders seen the condition she'd been in after the duel, he would have known that she had been in no state to tell anyone to take her anywhere. There was a pause of hesitation on her part before she looked up at him again. Their gazes did not part.

Then…he was leaning down, bending his knees until he sat on his haunches on the floor. Like fire from a spell hitting a wall, so did his fierce and solid aura hit hers in that moment. He looked like he was ready to devour her, so powerful was his scrutiny. She felt a hot shiver tingle up her spine. Her trembling lips opened but no intelligent thought could pass through. The moment was simply too overpowering.

His hand tightened in her hair, his eyes daring her to speak. In that second, the risk of doing so did not appeal to her. She moved to brush her hands against his face, but stopped just short of his skin, as if fearful that her touch would break him. Truthfully, such a notion was far from impossible. He felt that if she _did_ touch him now, he would fall even deeper into the void of his need for her. Steeling himself, he prepared to break their powerful union of stares, but was not prepared for her next action. As if knowing what it would do to him, she smiled – the sort of smile that he had not seen her give since the night that they had parted over three years prior. If her eyes were the meadows of Saheron, then her smile was the radiant sun that perfected their unrivaled purity.

The words flowed from his lips before he could do anything to stop them. "I don't understand my behavior. When it comes to you, everything is _twisted_." His hands dropped from their place on her hips and clenched in the sheets, his sharp gloves tearing the cloth as his hands formed a powerful grip upon it. "I do not recognize myself." He gave a bitter sneer. "I cannot explain my actions, or my feelings," he looked up suddenly, "...or my desires."

Her smile faded; she looked pained, and he knew why. Their last night together stretched between them like a chasm. Was it too broad to overcome now? Was it too treacherous to even consider trying? "I…" his fists clenched tighter, "…walking away from you all those years ago was one of the _hardest_ things I've ever done."

"It hurt, when you left…" she admitted slowly. "I did not think that anything could hurt so much. For what it's worth, I forgive you, Fenris. I understand what you were going through – I always understood. I just wish you hadn't shut me out the way you did." Her gaze moved downwards. It was so rare to see such a vulnerable look on her face – rare and hurtful. It was as though he could feel her sadness. The emotion was strong enough to make his entire body hurt. He shifted until their foreheads were touching, closing his eyes at the feeling of her skin.

"I was a fool, Hawke. Everything was happening so quickly. I was changing – my hate was fading, and I had no idea how to live without it. I'm not sure I do even now." Her fingers weaved into his silver hair, sending shivers down his spine. "I have drowned myself in solitude, hoping that the silence of this place would help me find myself, but I am as lost now as I was that night." Gently, he pushed on her shoulders until their eyes met once more.

"I still don't know how to treat you, how to show you what you mean to me…"

"Then, don't say anything," she interjected. "Just – come _closer_, Fenris." Her hands pulled on him until his face was trapped against the crook of her neck, their chests touching, her arms holding him tightly against her. "I cannot breathe when you are away from me." His body hurt again – _ached_ with a desire to return her embrace. Yet, stubbornly, he renewed his grip upon the mattress.

"Why do you persist in this?" he asked with a groan. "I am not the one who can give you what you seek; I am not the one who can make you happy." When she did not release him, frustration bloomed in his chest. Heedless of her injury and the ridges of his armor, he grabbed her hands and tore them away from him, pushing them down to her sides.

"Command me to leave you," he said gruffly. "Command me to walk away from you, and I shall…"

"I could no sooner command my heart to stop." She reached forward and cupped his face with her hands, gingerly touching his markings until they gave off a dim, blue, glow. How was it that her touch burned him so painfully? How was it that, despite the pain, he wanted to be turned to ash in her embrace? "You are carved into my soul just as permanently as _this_ is chiseled into you."

"Hawke…" he turned into her touch until his lips were pressed against her palm. His breath escaped him in a trembling sound of helpless surrender. He felt her shiver as he kissed the inside of her wrist and was undone. Whatever barrier he had worked so hard to build against his need for her was shattered; whatever iron there was that he had used to imprison his emotions melted as he saw his own desire reflected in her eyes.

Roughly, he pushed against her shoulders until she was pressed into the mattress, his lips capturing hers. It was no chaste kiss; it was much more than a way to assert his dominance; it was incredible and unforgettable. He had been lost so long without water in the desert, that when he finally found the sustenance that was her lips, he drank his fill and more. Though he knew that he did not deserve a single ounce of it, he let himself drink deeply of her strength, feeling that their kiss was the only anchor keeping him from being swept away in the raging storm.

Her fingers were brushing through his hair, a gentle touch that did nothing to soothe the ravenous monstrosity that was his desire. He felt her softness even through his armor and lamented that he could not feel more. Over three years, he had waited for this – in that moment, he realized that he would have waited his entire life. Reaching under the plates of his shoulders, he unbuckled the clasps holding his armor together, removing it piece by piece until only his pants remained.

She had asked him once if he had known any sort of attachment to anyone before. There was no way of knowing; all he knew was that the passion that he held for Hawke could not compare to anything as remotely simple as attachment. It was more than longing – it was thirst, it was hunger, it was devotion, and it was a deep, fierce, bond. He needed to possess _all of her_ – to mold with her until there was nothing more between them. Before she could even catch her breath, he had lifted her off the bed and onto his lap, twisting his body until he stood.

She had no time to ponder the sudden turn of events. The wall was awfully hard when he rammed her against it, one knee bent to support her bottom to keep her from falling. One hand was trapping her wrists while the other cupped her face, the thumb tilting her chin upwards. She struggled against the bruising grip on her hands but he silenced her with a growl. She was shaking with anticipation when he moved his face closer to hers, his breath hitting her lips. The distance between their mouths was smaller than a hair's width.

"Do not move. If you are like this your injury should cause you little discomfort."

And indeed she noticed that she almost felt no pain in her back. In fact, she felt strange. Hot, and terribly restless. A chill on her arms made her notice what she wore for the first time. A short, loose, sleeping robe that he must have dressed her in when he'd brought her here. His breath was impossibly hot and moist on her neck. The hand that had previously touched her face roamed downward until it met the bare skin of her legs, where the robe had fallen open to reveal her thighs. She jerked at the contact, gasping when her back caught fire.

He nuzzled her neck, relishing in the smooth feeling of her warm skin against his. She arched against him. Then, a wave of pure electricity traveled up her entire left side. Her mouth opened on a gasp as she realized that his fingers were traveling further down her calf, and he took the opportunity to capture it in another sensual kiss. His tongue invaded her mouth, his hand massaging her knee until she thought she would die from the shock that was raging through her stomach. As she arched her back even further, her breasts brushed against his chest, the friction nearly driving her mad.

Her throat released a deep moan of euphoria as his tongue ran down the length of her neck. His teeth were nipping at her flesh, his pliant lips brushing against her ear lobe. Somehow, he felt different than the Fenris that she knew. His actions were less controlled; he wasn't holding anything back. He tore through the bandages on her torso, his fingers coming up to cup a breast. Jostling her until she was at a higher level above him, he growled ferociously as his mouth fastened on a rosy nipple. She nearly yelped from the unexpected pleasure that ripped through her.

"Fenris…wait…" she gasped between moans of pleasure. He wasn't sure he could, but paused nonetheless to look up. Her face was no longer pale. Color had flushed into her cheeks; her lips were slightly swollen, her hair mussed. "I've…never…" she looked away abruptly, her expression one of embarrassment. He moved back, seeing her in a new light. A virgin? Her blush was slowly becoming as dark as the color of his favorite wine. He said nothing in response to her silent implication; there was nothing he could say that could express all the things he now felt.

"I…don't know what to do…" she whispered shamefully.

"Then, don't do anything," he said, repeating her words from before. "Just, give yourself to me."

"But, Fenris – " he kissed her before she could finish her protest. Even if it was not his real name, he would have her whisper nothing else. It was a sound that he had learned to cherish. He was her wolf now, and just like his namesake, he would only have one mate – one woman – in his entire life. This time, he kissed everywhere, lifting her breasts to lick a teasing trail beneath them. His teeth gently grazed against her and this time, she couldn't control the whimper that escaped her lips. Immediately, he blew cold air onto the offended area – the action tearing another groan from her.

She could barely recognize her own voice through the haze of ecstasy that engulfed her entire body like a silver glove. He circled his tongue around her other nipple – teasing and taunting, but not touching – until she couldn't hold back any longer.

"…please…" she gasped breathlessly. She wanted to die when she felt the vibration of his deep voice against her skin.

"Please what?" Maker help her if she knew the answer to that. She was too far gone – too absorbed in the hot quicksand of pleasure that was his tongue.

"…_please_…" she repeated with more volume. When he moved away from her slightly, she had a fierce urge to scream at him. Her entire body was shaking like a rabbit in a snare – her pupils dilated and her breath coming in pants. He licked his way up her chest, leaving her in a state of confusion.

"Please what?" His tongue left her skin. "Please stop?"

"N-No!" She struggled madly against his grip on her wrists but he refused to let go. "_Please!_" Somehow, she couldn't get beyond that single, damnable, word. She arched her back farther, shaking her head from side to side, completely immersed in the throes of the inferno he ignited in her body. He watched silently, feeling his control slipping farther and farther away. Her passion was so innocent, her pleading so genuine and insistent that he felt the pain in his groin intensify. Her skin was far too smooth, her breasts far too soft, and the taste of her skin far too palatable.

"I want to hear you tell me. Please what?"

_I want you at my mercy. I want to tame that savage spirit. I want to hear you beg._

"…please…more…"

That was enough for now. Already he was having trouble trying to keep himself from touching her. His mouth continued its attention to her nipple, his other hand gently kneading the other breast in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"…please…don't stop…"

In a fit of insanity, he tore the garment completely off of her shoulder, ripping through the fabric until it hung from her hips and pooled between her legs. He wanted – no – he _needed_ more and he was not about to stop now. Moving away from the wall, he supported her back as he stepped over to the bed. He let go of her wrists momentarily. She shook weakly against him ,and he felt a true rush of tenderness momentarily flash through him. Slowly, he lowered her onto the bed. Using his free hand, he undid the ties of his pants. He resumed his previous attentions to her body, licking all the way down to her navel. He felt her legs squeeze his waist. Emboldened by her response, his nipped at her skin and continued downwards. He wouldn't have heard her had it not been so completely silent in the room.

"…wait…"

Moving back up, he kissed her again, cupping her face and ravaging her mouth until she was too breathless to say another word. This had gone too far. Even if he wanted to, there was no way he could stop now. He felt the tension in her body, felt the heat radiating from her, and knew that he had to somehow ease her nervousness.

"It's alright," he whispered huskily against her lips. She kissed him back this time with an almost desperate sort of force, her eyes closed and her hands wrapping around him. As he parted her lips with his tongue, he carefully slid his free hand down her side until he reached the junction between her legs. Reaching under the robe, he pressed his thumb against the sensitive point there. He felt her entire body tense up and jerk as if lighting had just hit her. His own muscles suffered the same when her hips moved against his own.

_No…_ he thought. _Not yet._ Moving his thumb against her pleasure spot, he ground his hips against hers in a dangerous rhythm, imitating what he really sought to do. He smoothed his tongue over her collar bone. No fabric or bandages separated her nipples from his chest this time as her breasts moved against him. He felt her nails dig into his back – a feeling that was as arousing as it was pleasurable. Release reached her surprisingly fast. Her breathing was labored, her eyes opening to reveal yet another expression he had never seen on her face – need.

He brought his hand to his lips, sensuously licking all evidence of her release from his fingers. A corner of his lips turned up and he smiled. A breeze – as if planned by some divine being – blew through the slightly open window, and his silver hair shimmered as the wind toyed with it. He looked so wild – so strangely out of this world – that she had to wonder whether she was dreaming. A foreign feeling wrapped itself around her heart, her throat constricting. Suddenly fearing that she would wake up from this dream, she called his name. He covered her hand with his own when she reached to touch his cheek, once again kissing her palm.

He leaned down and kissed her again. "There may be some discomfort now, but it will pass," he whispered as he kissed her forehead. She felt him move; then, there was pain. For a moment, it was so painful that she squeezed her eyes shut, but – just as he promised – it did not linger. He was _inside_ her, she realized – they were joined now. It was a feeling unlike any other, knowing that nothing separated them now. As he sensed her getting used to him, he quickened his rhythm, groaning as pleasure knifed through him. Dimly, he heard her call his name again, but was too immersed in ecstasy to respond. With each one of her breaths, he thrust into her harder and faster, until he could go no deeper. A few more thrusts, and he felt her reach her peak, his own climax not far behind.

In the aftermath, they lay – entwined and breathless – against the sheets, their hands still touching. Again, he could not find words that were sufficient enough to express the full range of all his feelings. Her face rested against the crook of his arm, her hand gently running down his torso. They were silent for a long time, so long that he thought she might have fallen asleep. Then –

"So, where do we go from here?" was her tentative question.

"Do you regret being with me?" he asked, somewhat concerned. She raised up on her elbow and frowned, her eyes grave.

"Never." In response to her conviction, he smiled.

"Then…we stay together."

"You're everything to me now, Fenris. There can be no future for me if you are not in it."

She smiled, then, and he knew with complete certainty that he loved her.

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><p>To be continued...<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews and alert/favorite settings both on this website and the others. You guys have really inspired me to work harder on more frequent updates. **

**I'm thinking I should be able to post 1 or 2 times a week, depending on my school schedule.**

**Once again, I apologize ahead of time for any typo's - if anyone knows where I could find someone willing to be my beta reader, please let me know. Meanwhile, I will fix them as I find them :]  
><strong>

**Please enjoy this next installment!**

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><p><strong>Limerance<strong>

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

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><p>"Couldn't you have killed him normally?"<p>

"Normally?"

"Yes, instead of making a bloody mess everywhere…"

"I didn't, really…"

"You did, and now there are corpses everywhere…"

"I'm still not sure I understand what you mean by 'normally'…"

"_I mean_, was cutting off his arms really necessary?"

"Well, he _was_ coming at you from behind and you were busy with the other three in front of you. I'd say it was more than necessary, Aveline."

"Oh Hawke…will I ever just have a quiet patrol with you? Maybe I should stop going out with you like this – even for ' investigations' for the Guard…" Aveline stood tall, her legs apart, her arms crossed over her chest, and her shoulders stiff – this was a woman who was in quite an unpleasant mood, and with Aveline, a bad mood swing usually preceded a bad day for whoever got in her way. Not intimidated in the least, Hawke chuckled and clapped a hand on the Captain's shoulder.

"Not a chance! You'd miss me too much." The older woman frowned.

"You're probably right. I think I'm getting used to protecting you from all the people that hate you." At this statement, Hawke looked wistful, remembering many a scrape they'd survived together. "What are we doing here at this time of the night anyway? You do realize I have my job to attend to in the morning."

"We are going to pay a visit to Anders. I have some questions for him, and I still haven't thanked him for saving my life after my duel with the Arishok. What I have to ask may, in fact, interest you." Suddenly, Aveline turned around, her frown deepening.

"And you, Fenris? Just coming along for the ride I suppose?" The elf shrugged.

"I just thought it might be prudent to join you. Who knows when an apostate, or a blood mage, will show up?" Hawke chuckled, and even Aveline couldn't miss the mischievous look she gave their companion.

"I'm going to assume there's something you're not telling me, Hawke. I'll leave it alone for now, but don't think you'll get away without telling me." The Captain turned around and stiffly walked towards the direction of Anders' clinic. Hawke sighed, knowing that – despite her stony demeanor – Aveline hated being kept out of the loop, and her feelings were hurt when she was. She shook her head, knowing that she would have to make it up to her soldier friend later – perhaps by sniffing out another group of bandits or yet another plot to overthrow the Guard. She moved to follow her, kicking a bandit corpse out of her way as she did.

As they walked, she was very conscious of Fenris and his own movements. After their rather intimate encounter, she felt as though she focused on him more. Oddly enough, Fenris had not tried to repeat their passionate night together even once. Nearly two weeks had passed, and the elf had yet to kiss her again. She wondered if she was demented somehow – perhaps couples did not share "interludes" that often. From her memories of the record books at the Blooming Rose, however, this theory could not be true. Then again, perhaps those people were also demented.

She felt his gaze on her back; her skin tingled there. Doing her best to ignore it lest she attract even more of Aveline's suspicions, she kept her eyes forward. Soon, they were at the doors of the clinic. Hawke hesitated. Last time she had seen Anders, he had not been happy. The last thing she wanted was for their friendship to suffer. She may not be the most experienced - well, at all experienced – in the bedroom, but she knew enough about emotions to know that Anders was far from indifferent towards her. At first, she had been attracted to his casual humor and gentle, brown eyes; the mystery that surrounded him had also been alluring. But, after confessing that she was interested in him, he had turned her down without a moment's pause, and whatever may have been was passed up. Then, they had encountered Fenris, and she was completely helpless to stop herself from falling in love with him.

Maybe it stemmed from a driving need to help him, to free him not just from physical bondage, but the metaphysical as well. Not many understood this need. In fact, Aveline, Anders, and even Varric made it a point to let her know just how _much_ they didn't want to understand it. They couldn't seem to look past Fenris' outer shell – the one that pulsed with indifference as cold as ice. Somehow, that chill had never touched her. Somehow, she had never seen him as the others did. It was as if, from the very beginning, she could see that lonely wolf that he was trying to hide from the rest of the world – the same primal, beautiful, passionate, and tender wolf she had seen on their night together.

_A night that we have yet to repeat…_

She stared at the ground as she walked, now hardly aware of her surroundings. How did Fenris always manage to twist her into knots like this? Still…it was nearly impossible not to jump to the most obvious conclusion. He hadn't enjoyed it. Her inexperience must have driven him away. Or perhaps it was something else. Perhaps she was just inadequate somehow.

"That is not the case," came a voice right by her ear. She nearly jumped, so startled was she. Her feet stopped on impulse.

"What?" She was about to turn around – confused – when an armored hand touched her shoulder. It was the barest of touches, but it sent a thrill through her entire body. Behind her, still close to her ear, she could feel a warm breath.

"I cannot read your thoughts, but I can guess what is troubling you."

A sudden feeling of pleasure made her gasp as she felt his claws gently brushing through her hair, slowly moving it away from her shoulder. There was a small pause that felt as though it could have lasted eons. Then, she felt his lips graze the tip of her ear. Again, it was a touch lighter than the feeling of a feather, but it was enough to make her long for him. Her knees grew weak, and she barely kept herself from falling.

"Fenris..."

"Remember, I am yours…" he murmured, backing away. The loss of his presence felt almost painful – it was as though the sun had suddenly abandoned her. She whirled around and was about to call out to him again when she heard footsteps coming from behind her. It was Aveline, leading a reluctant-looking Anders. Immediately, she forced her expression into one of neutrality.

"Anders," she said with a tense smile. The mage frowned, and she saw – then – that he _**knew**_. His face was troubled; the man had never been good at hiding his emotions. Not that he tried. Hawke watched as he clenched his jaw before finally making eye contact with her. Somehow, she felt guilty even though she knew that she had no reason to. Aveline stopped just a few paces before her, but Anders kept his distance. Perhaps, bringing Fenris hadn't been the best course of action after all. Even if it hadn't been, however, she needed him there. What she had to discuss concerned all four of them.

"Anders, I need to speak with you regarding some rumors Varric dug up in the Hanged Man." When the mage remained silent, she frowned but continued. "There is suspicious activity going on atop the mountain."

He huffed. "Isn't there always?"

"Not like this. There are rumors of Darkspawn sightings, and they seem to be increasing with each passing day."

"I don't see why you called me out in the middle of the night to tell me this, Hawke." He glared over her shoulder. "You have _better_ things to occupy your time now, don't you?" Her patience strained, she stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, forcing his gaze downward. He was much taller than she was, a fact that she both enjoyed and hated.

"Anders, please listen to what I'm saying. I'm here because I'm going up the mountain in the morning and I need you to come with me." Something flickered in his eyes momentarily, but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

"I'm busy. I have a flood of people that need my help at the clinic. I can't just go traipsing around on the mountain whenever you want me to." He shrugged off her hand and crossed his arms over his chest, much like Aveline. She bit her lip, unwilling to relinquish the true reason that she had brought them all together. It had grown natural for her to feel protective of her friends. If she had to, she would bear whatever burden she must if it meant protecting them from hardship. Now, though, there was no helping it; she had to tell them or risk losing their trust. Raising a hand to her face, she rubbed her temple in anticipation of the turmoil that her news would cause. "Unless you're here to tell me that you've found a way to free all the mages in Kirkwall, I don't see a reason for – "

"It's not just Darkspawn," she blurted out. "There are Grey Wardens, too – they are attacking the Dalish." Gritting her teeth, she looked over at Fenris, her eyes fearful. "And…others…" A beat. "Others with markings like yours, Fenris." For a moment after her speech, a deathly silence fell over all of them. Aveline looked shell-shocked, Anders looked pale and tense, and Fenris – well, she might as well have said that Danarius had risen from the dead. She tried to keep her mind set on the problems at hand, rather than allowing it to drift towards her need to reassure the elf.

"Aveline, you see how this concerns the Captain of the Guard. We need to do something before this gets worse. Anders, you were a Grey Warden once. Has there ever been a time when the Wardens and the Dalish were enemies?"

"N-no…" he replied, a crease forming on his brow.

"We can't let this go on another day. I won't stand by and let innocent people die," she said firmly. Aveline nodded; Anders still looked stunned.

"From what I remember, Grey Wardens don't involve themselves in political matters. If there is Darkspawn on that mountain, they should be killing them, not attacking the Dalish." She was about to agree with him when she felt Fenris' presence behind her once more. There was anger in him; she could feel it as surely as she felt her heart drop into her stomach.

"What did you say, Hawke?" Unwilling to let him take the upper hand, she whirled around and narrowed her eyes.

"You heard me, Fenris."

"Yes…" he said, leaning forward. His eyes were burning. "I want you to say it again."

"An injured elf was found on the Wounded Coast. Before he died, he said that he saw two warriors – a man and an elf woman – who had markings resembling those of the "silver-haired one" that follows me." She pursed her lips. "Since you're the only one in my company with silver hair, I'm going to say that he meant you." He stepped back as though she'd dealt him a blow. His already pale skin grew even whiter. "You never said there were others like you, Fenris. I always thought that you were the only one of your kind."

"So did I…" he bit out.

"Fenris, I hope you aren't thinking of doing anything foolish," Aveline warned. He didn't meet her threatening stare; he gave no indication that he had even heard her. And perhaps he truly hadn't. The look on his face now was empty, but Hawke knew that – inwardly – he was disturbed. When Varric had told her of the sightings, she had been taken aback. Countless times, Fenris had mentioned that he was the only one with lyrium brands, that the markings were costly in more ways than one. Suddenly, a possibility loomed just over the horizon – that there were others like Fenris, that he could finally find someone who had gone through the same experiences he had. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Some, secretly selfish part of her didn't want him to know; she wanted him to be only hers. Yet, knowing of others like him would bring him some peace, perhaps. He always lamented that he was alone in the world. She couldn't imagine how that must feel. Although she'd lost her family, she still had her niche in the world, whereas Fenris didn't belong – not with the elves, or with the humans.

"Of course he is!" Anders suddenly interjected. "Look at him! He reeks of blood lust," he spat.

"Ah, the abomination speaks," the elf said through gritted teeth. Anders lowered his arms to his sides, reaching for his staff.

"I dare you to say that again, _you dog_."

"Stop it, _both_ of you," Hawke cut in. "We don't have time for this right now." She and Aveline shared a look of mutual frustration. Fenris relaxed his stance somewhat, although Anders didn't look like he was ready to back down. "Anders, Fenris – please focus."

"Forgive me for stating the obvious, Hawke – I merely wished to express the truth of the matter. He is an abomination, and he will turn on us in a heartbeat." That said, he turned on his heel and prepared to step away. Just when the women thought that the argument had stilled, Anders snorted rudely.

"Careful, Hawke, if this _beast_ gets even one whiff of his master's scent, he'll run to him like a good little puppy. He'll be the one to betray us." Aveline visibly flinched at this comment. "Won't you, _slave_?"

Fenris was on him in a flash, his sword drawn and swinging towards the mage in less time than it took to blink. Hawke only had a split second to make a decision. Without thinking much about the consequences, she dove forward, slamming Fenris sideways with her shoulder and jumping up to kick Anders away from the swing. Her momentum spun her around, the enormous sword's edge barely missing the tip of her nose. The ground came up and both human and elf tumbled to it. There was a flash of blue before she was roughly flipped and pressed into the ground. Fenris was above her, his hand on her throat, markings aglow. She didn't move – didn't even struggle. The look in his eyes was almost crazed; if she moved now, he would kill her.

"Let her go!" It was Anders again. She dearly hoped that he would be smart enough not to make any hostile moves – for her sake, at least. Tuning everything out but the elf above her, she slowly reached up and touched his cheek with the back of her fingers.

"Fenris, it's alright." She looked right into his eyes, unafraid. In her heart, she knew that he wouldn't hurt her. Even his grip on her throat – although painfully hot – wasn't tight enough to choke her. He was lost in his emotions, and she dearly wished that there was more she could do to help him. Eventually, the blue glow began to dim, until she could clearly see his eyes again.

"Hawke…" she heard him whisper. Suddenly, his eyes widened and he jumped away from her as though she'd been the one to burn him. He looked down at his palm and then at the irritated skin on her throat with a lack of understanding. She rubbed the offended area and stood. Aveline rushed to her, stepping in front of her protectively as she had done so many times in battle.

"When this pissing contest is over, I suggest we proceed to the real problem at hand," she announced. Both men looked humbled. As they picked up their weapons from the ground, they didn't even look at each other. Despite everything, Hawke feared for them. She had tried so many times to help them set aside their differences, but it didn't seem like a realistic goal. It appeared that they were destined to hate each other, no matter what she tried.

"Listen to me. We need to start moving towards the mountain as soon as we can. There is something big brewing here, I can feel it."

"Right," Aveline agreed. "Are you sure the four of us can handle it, though, Hawke?"

"Have I ever gotten us into an overwhelming situation before?" she asked sarcastically.

"Only _always_," the Captain replied with a smile. As they moved onwards, Hawke hung back, wanting to speak with Fenris to make sure he was alright.

"Don't…" he warned as she approached him. "Just, don't…" For a moment, she said nothing, then –

"Are you angry with me or yourself?"

"Both, if you must know…"

"Well, let's start with why you're angry with me."

"I could have killed you…" he said in a hoarse tone, too quiet for the others to hear.

"You give yourself a lot of credit don't you?" she joked.

"Is jesting your natural reaction to every problem?"

"Only really serious problems, which is why I wasn't jesting. You couldn't kill me in a thousand years."

"It isn't humorous in the least. I…" his gate slowed, "…how could you have jumped in like that?"

"Well, at least it will make you think twice before you swing that thing at your own friends," she replied gravely. He scoffed.

"That abomination is no friend to me."

"He is, and you know it. We have all been through Hell together – saved each other more times than you can count." He let out a frustrated sigh. It took them nearly an hour to make it to the city gates. As they passed through the intimidating archway, Hawke stopped them all in mid-stride.

"What is it?" Aveline asked.

"There's one more thing you should know about this…"

"I wish you'd just tell us everything instead of feeding us poison in small quantities," the soldier complained.

"There's someone else with the Grey Wardens whom appears to be leading them. When Varric told me, I could hardly believe it." She looked between all of them. "The survivors claim that they have heard the others calling him by name…" Taking a deep breath, she finally said – "His name is Duncan."

* * *

><p><strong>To be continued...<strong>


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